The Blonde Before Christmas: a Barb Jackson Mysteries holiday short story by Anna Snow

King and that he needs to speak directly to you about his situation." She air-quoted the word situation , which told me that she thought this guy was a total tool.
    "That's about all he would tell me. He's determined to see you and a bit of an arrogant ass, if I do say so myself."
    "You didn't tell him that he's an ass, did you?"
    She smiled sweetly. "No, but the night's still young." She pressed her black-framed glasses up her pert nose with the tip of her index finger and waited for my response.
    I shook my head. "You're a handful, you know that?"
    She nodded. The smile never left her face.
    I bit my bottom lip. "Jason King," I said while trying to dredge up where I'd heard the name before, but nothing came to me. "The name sounds familiar, but I can't place it right off the top of my head. Did you recognize him at all?"
    She shrugged her shoulders. "Nope." She shook her head. "He looks just like every other businessman in this town."
    I'd lived in the city since conception, and at times all the businessmen milling about appeared carbon copied.
    Suits, ties, shiny black shoes, and there was often either a shiny bald head framed by thinning white hair or a full head of over-gelled hair sitting on their shoulders. Neither of which I found the least bit attractive, but hey, whatever floats their boats, right? The look obviously did something for the gorgeous women on their arms. Or maybe it was their money not their appearance the women found attractive. Who knew?
    "Do you know if I have any other appointments today, Kelly?" I asked.
    "Nope. I asked Mandy before I came in here. She said that you're all clear today, that you're only supposed to review tapes and make calls," she answered.
    This mystery guy had piqued my interest, so I relented.
    "All right, I'll see him since I have some time, but I want you in here on this one. Who knows what this guy's story is." I looked up at the clock and found that it was only a little after ten o'clock in the morning. "Follow him in please."
    Kelly gave me a two-finger—which was much more polite than her one usual finger—salute and left the room.
    I stopped the surveillance disk I'd been reviewing for a client and powered off my monitor, then leaned back in my oversized desk chair and frowned.
    I'd already seen all that I needed to see on the disk in order to know the guy I'd been tailing for the last week was cheating on his wife. The last thing I needed was for some busybody to come in my office, take a look at the computer monitor, and see his bare bum bent over the hood of a car before I told his wife that her husband was indeed having an affair with his assistant…his very male assistant.
    "Jason King. Jason King. Jason King." I repeated the name as I tapped my bottom lip with the tip of my pen. I tried like crazy to figure out why that name sounded so familiar, but nothing came to me. I couldn't pin the name to a face.
    If I'd had time, I would've done a quick Google search, but Mr. Pushy was already in the lobby demanding an audience. That alone was enough to make me consider telling the guy to hit the road, but like I said before, I had bills to pay, and just because the guy was pushy didn't mean I could tell him to hit the road before I met him. I have to admit my curiosity was a big deciding factor for meeting him.
    My Aunt Mona often warned me that curiosity killed the cat, but I couldn't ever seem to help myself. When a puzzle presented itself, I had to solve it.
    A few moments later, Kelly opened the door, and the bottom dropped out of my happy little world.
    "Barb."
    My legs shook. I stood slowly and stared into the eyes of the one man who'd always sent my brain flying out the window.
    "Jason?"
    We stared at each other, taking in the other's appearance for what felt like a silent eternity. He was the same as I remembered, tall, with a broad chest, brown eyes, and perfectly auburn hair. For a moment all those old feelings, the ones I'd shoved in a drawer in the deepest,